


You Clean Up Well

by Margaret Ann (Manderson)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dinner, Humor, M/M, Sexy Times, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manderson/pseuds/Margaret%20Ann
Summary: Even the most boring of chores can be fun and interesting with the right company, as Steve and Bucky are soon to find out.





	You Clean Up Well

“Ugh, why are  _ we  _ stuck doing this stupid thing? Again?” Bucky grumped as he picked up another black binder. The cover was etched in pencil with crude drawings, and poorly-drawn ones at that. Clint’s seat, of course. Bucky added it to the pile and moved to the next seat. “We’re always tapped to clean up after the meetings. I know I’m on, like, the second-string team or whatever, but this is ridiculous.” 

“What are you saying about me, then?” Steve asked. He rolled another extension cord into a perfect coil.

Bucky looked over his shoulder at the tanned, perfectly-coifed form of his best friend. “Well, ever since Tony took over, you’re not exactly top cat here at headquarters anymore.”

The hero’s face was carefully blank as he set aside the orange roll. “But I’m still here, and I’m happy to do my job to help everyone do their jobs.”

“There’s a word for that, y’know,” Bucky grinned. 

Steve rolled his eyes and began piling the cords into a big cardboard box. He walked towards the door, where half a dozen similar boxes were stacked. All of the sudden, his foot caught on the cable leading from the projector to the outlet near the end of the table. The plug ripped from the wall, sending sparks sprinkling across the linoleum floor. “Oh, no!” he cried as he stumbled. For a moment it looked like he might be able get his feet underneath him again, and the whole universe seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. At the last second, though, his ankle rolled and he tumbled to the ground. The box went flying into the buffet table. One of the cords hit the gravy boat and sent it wheeling through the air. Bucky watched in astonishment as it spun in a perfect arc and landed, upside down, on Steve’s head. 

Time seemed to resume, and Bucky dropped the binders he’d been collecting. He dashed over, sliding the last few feet on his knees. “Steve! Steve, are you all right?” 

The golden man sat up woozily, gobbets of thick, lukewarm gravy dripping down his chiseled jaw. “I...I think so? God, no one saw that, did they?”

A voice from the door answered. “Hey, I hope you’re planning on cleaning  _ that _ up, too.”

Both men looked over to see Tony watching them, his arms crossed over his double-breasted power suit. “It was an accident—” Bucky began.

Their boss shook his head. “That’s company gravy, boys. It’s coming out of your paycheck. Now, clean up all this mess before the next meeting. You have an hour.” He whirled and stalked out of the room. The heavy oak-and-glass door slammed shut behind him.

Bucky and Steve shared a look. “Not a word,” Steve said quietly.

“Wasn’t going to.” Bucky reached over and gently lifted the gravy boat off his friend’s head. He set it aside. Steve started to stand, but Bucky placed his hand on the other’s thigh. Wiry muscle shifted under his palm, sending a thrill through his veins. “Wait.” With one fingertip he caressed Steve’s cheek, mopping up a little of the brownish sauce. He licked his finger.

Steve blinked rapidly, his face turning pink. “What are you—?”

“The chief said to get cleaned up. We should start with you.” Bucky scooted forward and teased at the collar of Steve’s shirt. He tugged it gently, but the tight cotton resisted as it slid slightly over the muscular chest.

“But you’ll get dirty,” Steve said. A dribble of gravy slid from his hairline along the curve of his cheekbone.

“I already am,” Bucky replied. He leaned forward and licked up the drop. The sauce was salty and thick on his tongue, and the hero’s manly musk filled his nose. Bucky had always loved the smell of his best friend’s shampoo; there was something about the anti-dandruff blend that made his knees weak. He tightened his grip on Steve’s thigh and moved his free hand to the hem of Steve’s t-shirt.

Steve shivered under Bucky’s grasp, and he pulled away slightly. “We have to—” As he moved his head, though, his lips caught his best friend’s. They were warm and firm, slightly salty from the gravy. Bucky’s tongue probed its way into his mouth. It was demanding and hesitant and hopeful. Surprising. Steve’s eyes slid shut with a will of their own, and he gently tapped Bucky’s tongue with his own. His arms found their way around Bucky’s neck, and his long fingers tightened around strands of thick, dark hair. 

Bucky tugged at the shirt hem again. As it rose over Steve’s muscled chest, Bucky’s callused hands brushed the taut, bronze skin he found there. Steve shivered, goosebumps rising from the gentle touch. A sound like a moan rose from Bucky’s throat, and he pulled the shirt upwards. The hero raised his arms, and they broke the kiss just long enough that Bucky could pull the garment off and throw it aside. It landed in the pile of gravy-speckled power cords, but neither man cared. Bucky kissed his way along Steve’s jaw to his shoulder, licking up the gravy wherever he found it. Where he didn’t, he instead nipped, leaving small tooth-marks behind. 

They gently fell backwards to lie on the ground. Steve gasped as the cold floor chilled his back, and he arched away from it. Bucky reached down and fumbled with the button. It opened after a moment, and the zipper followed halfway of its own accord. A sigh of relief escaped Steve’s lips as the tightness of his trousers eased. The hand which opened the button slid the zipper down the rest of the way, and strong fingers began stroking the bulge they found there.

Shuddering, Steve raised his hand to Bucky’s scruffy cheek to draw his mouth back upwards, craving another taste. His best friend, instead, began kissing down his chest, over his collarbone and one firm pectoral, then lay a hot, wet trail between his abs. Breathlessly he joked, “I don’t think I got any gravy down there.”

Bucky raised his head, his fingers tracing the straining fabric of Steve’s briefs. “Oh, there will be. Not the brown kind, but there will be.” With an expert gesture he slid down the hem, lowering his mouth, and— 

“Steve!”

The hero jerked up, blinking quickly. “Huh?” he asked, voice thick in his throat. He glanced around the table and saw the others all staring at him. Bruce, Thor, Clint, and Natasha looked concerned, while Tony had a half-grin on his face.

“Is everything okay?” Bruce asked. “Your face is red. Do you need me to give you a checkup?” 

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, uh, just tired, I guess.”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything. Is the food not to your liking?” Thor asked around a bite of mashed potato. “I must admit, this ‘turkey dinner’ of yours agrees with me. Is it not like that which you had in your time?”

“No, it’s fine.” Steve stabbed a piece of dark meat with his fork and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed hard. “Delicious.”

“It is good,” said Tony, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Especially the gravy.”

Steve practically choked, and he took a deep draught of water from his glass to hide it. His face felt as bright as a neon sign.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” repeated Bruce.

“I’m fine. Why do you keep asking?” He shifted, trying to ease the discomfort in his jeans. He’d never, ever been so happy that he insisted on tablecloths and napkins at every meal.

Bruce shrugged. “You’re usually so proper about everything, and tonight you’ve just been playing with your food. I figured your mother would’ve taught you not to do that is all.”

“Yes, she did,” Steve said. He set down his fork.

“Aww, c’mon,” interjected Clint. He gestured towards his plate, which looked like Picasso and Pollock had given birth to a hate-baby and served it to someone they wanted dead. “Sometimes it’s fun to play with your food.” 

He looked down at his plate, at the lemony buttered broccoli and soft, cloudlike mountain of potato and glistening crimson cranberry sauce and three thick slices of turkey. Over all of this was a veneer of smooth, salty gravy. Remembering his daydream, he thought,  _ Oh, Clint. You have  _ no _ idea. _


End file.
